RETURN TO INNOCENCE

Midnight Sun

Valentine's Day. The biggest celebration of love. The day you are supposed to love everything you cherish. And cherish everything you love. Family, relatives, pets, and even strangers.

There should be no degrees or categories to love. Love is love. It meant to be pure and absolute. And yet, society categorises love as dictated by social norms and practices. As a result, we have parental love, sibling love, love for friends, pet love, romantic love to name a few.

Each category of love is supposed to be different from the others. For example, parental love is different from romantic love. And both are totally separate from love for pets. Which begs the question, which category is superior to the rest?

I have always grappled with the answer to this question. Am I supposed to choose my parents over my partner? Or my brother over my friends? What would be the correct answer? What would be the right choice?

I found the answer a few years ago on Valentine's Day. But I didn't realise it then. Over time and after a lot of introspection, I have come to realise the truth. That there is no correct answer, no right choice.

I have come to believe that it is entirely up to you to decide who you value the most in your life. There is no shame if that person happens to be a stranger. I know that to be the truth in my case. I choose my 1st love - my 1st romantic love - above everybody else.

Chapter 1 - The Casanova Traveller

They say First Love is always special. You can never really forget your 1st love. But I had little knowledge of it back then. It was the February of 2019, and I was all of 19 years old.

We were out on a weeklong camping trip to the Sunderbans. By 'we', I refer to a big group of students from my college. By 'camping', I mean sightseeing, bird watching, tiger spotting, and endless sojourns across the many rivers of Sunderbans in rickety old wooden boats. We booked our accommodations at the government-run tourist lodge of Sajnekhali, located in the Sunderban National Park.

On the very 1st day of our stay, we destroyed the peace and tranquillity of the serene forest by our loud chatter, boisterous laughter, constant ringing of smartphones, and a never-ending desire to take hundreds of selfies in large groups. But what caught my attention was the presence of an equally rowdy group of tourists in the adjacent lodge. They were a truly riotous lot of 6 people who eclipsed us in loudness and disorderly conduct.

That group had only 1 man, probably in his 30s. He was always surrounded by 5 young girls who accompanied him everywhere. The babes wore skimpy clothes which made them an eyesore in the pristine forest landscape. Though some of the boys in my group considered them as eye candy.

Most of the female tourists at the lodge were middle class Bengali housewives dressed in sarees, and young Bengali girls in jeans and chinos. None was as scantily clad as those 5 noisy babes. They were always seen in micro miniskirts and hot pants, with tank tops and off-shoulder tees.

"Those guys are wildlife photographers from the National Geographic channel," one of my college mates, Pallavi, informed me. "I found out from the manager of the lodge this morning."

"These glam dolls are photographers?" I found that hard to believe.

"Not those girls," Pallavi corrected me. "The guy is the wildlife photographer. The girls are probably his colleagues or companions. Or whatever."

"Hmm. So he is the photographer and they are the wild ones," I said sarcastically. "They are certainly wild enough to put the wildlife of Sunderbans to shame."

Pallavi laughed at my dark humour and walked away. And I took a long hard look at the guy. Tall, dark, a head full of curly hair and a face full of stubble. The scruffy look might be a big draw for babes, but I have always preferred the vintage clean-shaven appearance in a man.